


Twelve Years Wanting

by justanothersong



Series: Tumblr Prompts [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accountant Castiel, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:37:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2181711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean groaned again, feeling pleasantly fluttery in his chest, blush deepening on his face. Castiel always said things like that; telling him he was good at his work, that he was a good person, that he looked good even when Dean thought he was too scruffy or too tired around the eyes. It was hard to believe any of it, especially coming from Castiel, a man who worked too hard for too little, had a kind word or deed for everyone he met, and looked like an angel come to earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Years Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt: Destiel fic using the lines "Stop trying to cheer me up!" and "This isn’t exactly what I had in mind."

Probably the biggest indication that Dean’s friendship with his roommate, Castiel, was a little closer and a little less about being friends than he professed, was the way that everyone sort of assumed they were a couple. Even people who didn’t know they lived together seemed to think they were dating, and the snapshot of him and Cas at the Grand Canyon the week after their college graduation pinned in his locker at the body shop where he worked didn’t particularly help things.

But Dean was excellent at deluding himself and even better at compartmentalizing his mind; he stuffed every questioning thought, every lingering glance, every little touch and brush of the hand that was perhaps a little too intimate into the back of his mind, to pour over only late at night when he couldn’t sleep and to be forgotten by morning.

He was a Kansas boy, born and bred, and even though time and opportunity had moved him and his former KU dorm-mate to Chicago, and some things he just didn’t talk about. Or think about. Or admit, even under duress.

For Dean Winchester, denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt.

Still, he plugged on, and Castiel didn’t seem to keen on rocking the boat either. They lived together, sometimes commuted together, and ate dinner together every night. When weekends came, they went out to together with their friends or spent long hours camped out on their couch, marathoning television shoes and arguing good-naturedly about their quality.

_“This is highly inaccurate for a medical series, Dean.”_

_“It’s not supposed to be accurate, Cas, it’s Doctor Sexy for Christ’s sake!”_

All in all, it was a good life, and neither man was making any move towards changing it.

 

On a warm late summer Friday night, Dean arrived home swearing even as he walked the stairs to the apartment he and Castiel shared. The day had been hell; Dean had spent the past three weeks on a custom paint job for some overprivileged dickwad named Crowley, only to have the man breeze in on pick-up day and announce that he wanted a slightly deeper shade of red, not quite so cherry, and it would have to be done all over again. 

With Dean’s custom car business still in its fledgling stages, he had to grin and bear it. He knew he did great work, and had a great team backing him up, and he just needed a few satisfied customers to get the reputation he needed for the garage to be a major success. Unfortunately, for now, it meant dealing with pricks like Crowley.

He pushed open the apartment door with a grunt, dropping his shoulder bag on the floor and kicking off his shoes. He had changed out of his coveralls at the garage and wore a battered pair of jeans and an old faded Metallica t-shirt, grumbling as he padded through the kitchen and living room, not even pausing before pushing his way through Castiel’s half-open door and flopping onto his back on the other man’s bed.

“Have a good day at work?” Castiel asked dryly, swiveling in his desk chair to survey his friend.

Dean groaned, scrubbing his hands across his face before putting them behind his head. “I swear to god I’m gonna kill that fuckrag Crowley one of these days.”

Castiel sighed, turned back to his computer only long enough to close out of Quickbooks. He worked for Miller Cooper as an accountant, but spent about as much time doing freelance work for Dean’s garage and their friend Jo’s kickboxing studio.

“You know you won’t have to deal with it all that much longer,” Castiel counseled, turning back towards his friend. “A few months, tops. Then everyone will know that Winchester Restorations is the best in the business, and you can pick and choose your clients.”

In the dim lighting of Castiel’s computer screen, it was difficult to see the flush that rose on Dean’s face, but Castiel knew it was there; the man had never really learned to take compliments.

“You don’t have to say that shit, you know,” Dean grumbled.

“And you know I’m not just ‘saying it’, Dean,” Castiel replied with a half-smile. “I’m never anything but honest with you. You do amazing work. Your clients appreciate it. Word will get out soon enough.”

Dean groaned again, feeling pleasantly fluttery in his chest, blush deepening on his face. Castiel always said things like that; telling him he was good at his work, that he was a good person, that he looked good even when Dean thought he was too scruffy or too tired around the eyes. It was hard to believe any of it, especially coming from Castiel, a man who worked too hard for too little, had a kind word or deed for everyone he met, and looked like an angel come to earth.

It had taken a while for Dean to admit that last part, but it became increasingly hard to ignore. It was the low voice that had first cut him to the quick, when they were both new freshman at KU and thrown together by a roommate lottery for the dorms. The voice had interrupted Dean as he claimed his bed, and he turned to greet his new roommate but felt the words die in his throat. Dean had thought other men were attractive before, in an abstract sort of way, but this… this was something else. 

Castiel was a runner, body slim and built with lean muscle. His dark hair was just a little too long, leaving it attractively unkempt, eyes bright and blue and curious, and his jaw strong and dusted with early morning stubble. Dean had to swallow a few times before he was able to deliver the greeting he had lost when he first laid eyes upon Castiel. He knew he wasn’t too bad on the eyes himself – Dean’s pretty boy good looks, lively green eyes, and boyish freckles had served him well over they ears – but he felt like a dandelion growing next to a sunflower when Castiel was around. He promptly gave himself a mental kick in the pants for even thinking such a thing in the moments afterward, but it was true enough at the time.

It only grew as they got older. Dean had never met anyone like Castiel, someone warm and giving, always putting someone else’s needs before their own. Someone who’d work a full day at the office and then come home to put in another four hours on their friend’s businesses, never accepting payment for it. Someone who’d be jogging through a city park and stop at an ice cream vendor to treat all of the children playing nearby. Someone who’d cancel a weekend trip to Napa to stay home and care for a litter of abandoned kittens.

Castiel was one in a million, and his praise made Dean feel silly, and happy, and light.

"Stop trying to cheer me up!" Dean groaned, face once again buried in his hands. He heard a soft sigh in response.

“One of these days I’ll get you to understand how amazing you are, Dean Winchester,” Castiel said quietly, and Dean only grunted in response, rubbed his eyes and kept them closed, stretching out again. The room was cool and smelled like Castiel’s aftershave; Dean could easily have fallen asleep for the night, right then and there.

“Quit it,” Dean mumbled. “No more talking.”

 

It never occurred to him that Castiel was quietly losing his mind, sitting in his desk chair and watching an almost pornographic show playing out before him. Dean, on his bed. Dean, stretching out so that his old t-shirt, shrunk too often in the dryer, stretched up and revealed a strip of summer bronzed skin and an adorably ginger trail of soft hair stretching beneath the fly of his jeans.

Castiel had always found that cute, the way the dark blonde of Dean’s head lightened to an almost reddish tone just about everywhere else. He found the tiny paunch of too many burgers and late night taco runs on Dean’s abdomen adorable. He found the way Dean flushed and refused compliments frustratingly sweet, and the way Dean had befriended a neighbor boy who had lost his father just prior to moving in heart-achingly sweet.

He loved Dean Winchester, there was no doubt. It had been a physical attraction when they’d first met – Dean biting his lip through their introductions in their dorm room had been driving Castiel mad, and it had taken great force of restraint not to tackle the other boy right then and there – but it had grown so much over the years, watching the sweetness that Dean hid at his core come to the surface more and more.

That, coupled with seeing how comfortable Dean was, relaxing against Castiel’s own sheets, and feeling the overwhelming need to make the man feel better after a hard day at work… it was just too damn much.

 

Dean didn’t react at first, feeling the weight of another body on the bed. He’d never admit it if asked, and would never broach the topic to talk about it himself, but it wouldn’t be the first time they’d shared a bed. They’d had a habit of falling asleep atop one another, through television marathons or shared flu, and they’d more than once stretched out side by side and just talked their way through a few hours here and there.

What did cause him to peek open and eye, though, was realizing that weight was still moving, perching on either side of his legs and resting against his thighs. When Deans vision cleared, he realized that Castiel was looming over him, elbows on the mattress and face mere inches away. Dean could feel the other man’s breath against his lips and his body shifting against Dean’s own, and was beginning to react to it in ways he would never, ever admit.

“Uh, Cas?” he asked slowly, opening both eyes and arching an eyebrow as he spoke.

“You said no more talking,” Castiel replied simply. Without another word, he ducked his head and pulled at the collar of Dean’s t-shirt just long enough to place a soft, wet kiss against his throat.

Dean’s eyes widened and he gasped. “This, uh… This isn't exactly what I had in mind,” he panted, earning only a stifled grunt from Castiel, who had busied himself using every drunken admittance from Dean about what and where turned him on against him.

In a few short moments, Castiel had snaked a hand up Dean’s t-shirt and was using his fingertips to toy with the other man’s nipples, earning soft gasps and shudders with every tweak, and nibbling at Dean’s jaw. Their hips were moving in subtle concert, rolling thrusts against one another before they had even kissed.

Castiel paused at Dean’s lips, shuddering when he felt Dean’s hands stroking at the small of his back, and heaved out a sigh.

“We could stop here,” Castiel told him quietly, bumping their noses together as he spoke. “We could go back to the way we were. Ignoring. Pretending. Or we can…” He captured Dean’s lips as he finished speaking, loving the groan from the back of Dean’s throat and the way he gripped Castiel’s hips tighter as they kissed. It took all of his control to pull back, sucking and nibbling a long moment at Dean’s bottom lip. “Your call,” he said.

Twelve years, Dean thought. Twelve years to come to this. Pushing thought away, ignoring what he wanted. What Castiel wanted. Twelve long frustratingly wonderful years.

With one sudden movement, Dean flipped Castiel onto his back, attacking his lips with renewed fervor. Twelve years was already too long to wait, he thought, then realized he must have mumbled them aloud, feeling Castiel smile against his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://literatec.tumblr.com), if you wish.
> 
> Please do not add this, or any of my posted works, to Goodreads. Thank you.


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